hours and hourssitting with strangerssometimeswith strange smells,engaging with idletalkwith senior citizenslike donkeyasking"are we there yet?"

this is my life.

sitting stillas the busbounces from city to cityto the great suburbsof my destinyand young lover'skissing in front of meand i chagrinon their stupiditynot knowingtomorrowthey'd probablybe writingbad poetryabout each other.